


A Past Better Left Forgotten

by TechnologicalNoiz



Series: Marshal Harbinger [4]
Category: Fallen Hero Series - Malin Rydén, Fallen Hero: Rebirth (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Another dark one ofc, M/M, marshal harbinger au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-16
Updated: 2019-05-16
Packaged: 2020-03-06 07:22:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18846337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TechnologicalNoiz/pseuds/TechnologicalNoiz
Summary: Your eyes wander to the closet. There is a box in there. Packed carefully away. Remnants of a happier time. You shouldn’t open it. You should throw it away. But no matter how hard you try, you can't. You can’t lose what little is left of him. Your memories have been tainted. That box… has not.





	A Past Better Left Forgotten

_The scene is familiar. A rooftop towering above the city, just the two of you. Alone. Trading blows. You have done this countless times over the years._

_The only difference is, now it is a fight to the death._

_A twisted, crackling laugh escapes from him. The failing vocal distorter robbing it of any familiarity. “So what now flyboy? Are you going to kill me?”_

_“I can’t let you continue. You know I can’t!” Your voice breaks, you just barely manage to hold back the sobs threatening to consume you. “You’ve taken everything from me!” You take a step towards him, he steps back, hitting the low wall of the roof that is so familiar to both of you. “And I promised. I promised that I wouldn’t let them take you again.”_

_You can see the visceral fear in his eyes as you rip the helmet from his head. Resigned acceptance. This is it. He knows it. You know it._

_You love him._

_After everything he has done. You. Still. Love him._

_You would like to think that there are no tears in your eyes, but you know there are. You raise the gun, shoot, and watch him fall, tumble, crash._

_To the pavement below._

_His body bent, broken, twisted in ways that no body ever should be._

_Despair._

_Desperation._

_You fight the urge to catch him as he falls._

_To stop him from hitting the ground._

_But you can’t._

_You are frozen, stuck, glued to the spot that you were that day._

_Blood runs cold in your veins as the icy hands of indifference wrap themselves firmly around your heart, worming their way into the very essence of your being. Terror and dread can’t touch you if you lose all ability to feel._

_And yet,_

_The pain still lingers._

You gasp as you wake. Tearing your drenched sheets from you as you stumble out of the bed, knees hitting the ground. You breath in a shuddering breath struggling to keep the memories at bay. A soft whine by your side draws you from your thoughts. You remove  the hands covering your face. Baron sits next to you, old and graying. You reach out to stroke his coarse fur before pulling him into your arms, burying your face against his neck.

You finally understand his nightmares. After all these years. The fear of falling to sleep knowing the terrors that lurk in your dreams. Baron wines again, a soft growl rumbling in his chest, as if he could chase away the demons that nip at your heels. The sorrow knotted within your tangled mind. After one last deep breath you release him, slowly getting to your feet. You check the time, 4:28. Your alarm won’t go off for another two hours. You sigh as you turn it off. Another restless night.

Your eyes wander to the closet. There is a box in there. Packed carefully away. Remnants of a happier time. You shouldn’t open it. You should throw it away. But no matter how hard you try, you can't. You can’t lose what little is left of him. Your memories have been tainted. That box… has not.

Against your will, your feet carry you over to the closest. You know that you shouldn't, but you can't help it. A wet nose nudges your hand as you lean over to dig the box from where it is buried. Led settles in the pit of your stomach, nausea, as you sit with it on the ground. Baron settles his head against your lap, his warm, comforting presence doing little to deter the pain ripping into you. You remove the lid and are nearly overwhelmed with grief. Staring back at you is the scarred face of a man you loved, love, so dearly that even five years later it still threatens to destroy you.

Carefully, so carefully, you run your finger along the smudged lines of the charcoal drawing. That’s what his smile looked like. You had almost forgotten. The crooked way the corners of his lips raise, the smallest glimmer in his eyes. An expression reserved only for you. An expression that you miss desperately. You remove the drawing from the box setting it on the ground as if it were centuries old.

Your eyes shift to the next item in the box. A hoodie. Worn. Faded. Slowly you pull the soft gray fabric from its place in the box. Pressing it against your face you inhale deeply. It doesn't smell like him anymore, just dust. No. No. Dry sobs wrack your body as you struggle to breathe clutching hoodie to your chest. It has been years you’ve cried and your tears have run dry. All that’s left is the heaving, aching way your body shakes.

Baron barks, licking your face as you double over, the pain too much to bear. He desperately tries to comfort you, nuzzling your hair. When you don't move he lays down beside you, keeping watch. Protecting what little is left of his pack. But he can't keep you safe from the torment of your own mind. You killed the man you love with your own hands. He may have become a monster but a small part of your mind insists that he wasn't beyond saving. That you could have stopped him if only you tried harder. If only you weren't so blind to his pain, but you weren't, not really. Then maybe you wouldn't have had to kill him. Maybe your friends would still be alive. Maybe your life wouldn't have ended, apathy settling firmly, becoming an old friend.

You have no idea how long you lay there next to his box of things. His jacket held tightly to your body… his dog laying by your side. You are exhausted. Broken. You struggle to push yourself into a sitting position, carefully replacing the lid back on box. In you lap still lays the hoodie he wore everywhere. Why didn't you put it away? Before you can stop yourself you slide your arms into it, pulling it over your head. This isn't the first time that you have stolen his jacket,  _glancing towards the bed where he still lies, still asleep. You love it when he sleeps soundly. You lean over pressing a soft kiss to his head. He stirs lightly but doesn't wake. You will make coffee, breakfast, leave a short note, should you leave before he wakes._

_‘I love you, coffee in the pot, food on the counter. Call me when you wake up?’_

You shake your head. You don't want to think of that. You don't want the memories. One day. Just one day wrapped in the warmth of what should be his arms, then you will pack the hoodie away again, push the thoughts of him out of your mind. Some days you wish that you could forget he ever existed. That you could have someone pull all memories of him out of your mind. But you know that, given the choice, you could never go through with it.

Picking up the box you carefully replace it in the closet before making your way to the kitchen. Baron stays by you the whole time. You reach down to scratch behind his ears. He is a good dog, even if looking at him on days like this hurts beyond belief.

You sit there, the cup you are holding warm against your skin. _“He killed them. He actually killed them. And I was absolutely useless.” You curl in on yourself, pulling your knees tight to your chest._

_“Shhh. It's not your fault.” He holds you in his arms, gently petting your head. “You couldn't have known.”_

_“I can't.” A broken sob rips from your body. “I can't lose anyone else. I just can't. If I was stronger this wouldn't have happened.”_

_“Yes. It would have.” His voice is sure, steady but soft. He truly believes that this isn't your fault and it hurts to see you in pain. Your breath hitches as you wrap your arms tightly around him, letting yourself fall apart completely._

Breathing is difficult. Keeping your hands steady is more so. You check the time again, 10:01. Where did the morning go? The coffee sits cold and untouched on the table still clutched tightly in your hands. A life line that has lost its tether leaving you to drift endlessly in the abyss as storm clouds roll over head.

The phone rings startling you enough that you nearly knock the cup off the table. It vibrates on the counter where you left it. _It's him. He never calls. He. Is. Dead._  You clench your teeth, shut your eyes, will away all thoughts of him.

“Yes? What is it?” Your voice is harsh, agitation clear in the tone. That’s to be expected. What surprises you is how steady your voice is.

“Sir?” Anthony’s voice cracks. “I don’t know what to do. He’s going to kill the rest. I feel it. His mind. So much anger and hatred. At everything. I don’t… I just… I can’t… Sir? What should I do?” Panic and fear fill his voice. Who's going to kill who? What’s going on?  _Sidestep_ , your mind provides. You shake your head. No. That's over.

“Anthony, take a breath and tell me what is happening.” You walk into the living room and turn on the tv. A heavily modded man is holding a group of 7 people, well 6 now, one is already dead. It doesn't specify why and you don’t have time  to find out.

“There are hostages... if i do nothing-”

“Anthony. Listen to me very carefully. I need you to stall for time. Don’t do anything rash.” Shit. It’s only been six months the kid doesn't have enough experience to handle this situation alone. You can’t let anything happen to him. Not today. Not when the memories from the past cling to you like tar. Loss too fresh in your mind. “I will be there as soon as I can.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'd say that a smute and my creation is coming along quite nicely...Thanks again for looking over it and providing advice to maximize the angst! :)


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